The Substance

Coralie Fargeat, 2024
Drama, Horror, Science-Fiction
France / USA / UK

Content warning: The following film review deals with sexism, eating disorders and self-harm. If you find these topics distressing, please read with caution or consider skipping this review.

If you had the opportunity to create a better, perfect version of yourself, would you say yes?

“Everything comes from you. Everything is you. This is simply a better version of yourself. You just have to share.“ Copyright: MUBI

The Substance (2024), directed and written by Coralie Fargeat, is a daring psychological body horror film which is sure to deeply disturb many viewers. The film follows Elisabeth Sparkle (played by Demi Moore), a once-famous actress whose career collapses on her 50th birthday when she is fired from her aerobics show for being viewed as too old by the producers. After a car accident, Elisabeth is introduced to  “The Substance”, an illegal, cell-replicating drug that creates a perfect, youthful version of oneself. Out of desperation, she orders the neon yellow serum and uses it. In a bizarre and disturbing visual display, she gives birth to her younger self through her back, Sue (played by Margaret Qualley). There are two important rules: They must swap places every week and: They are one. While Sue's career takes off, Elizabeth spirals, setting the stage for a dark exploration of society's obsession with beauty, aging and the destructive consequences of the pursuit of eternal youth.

The movie left me with a sense of unease that lingered long after the credits rolled. At its core, the film addresses the theme of aging as a woman—particularly in the entertainment industry—, as well as the broader issues of female self-perception and beauty standards. These are concerns to which many women, no doubt, can relate. As Susan Sontag said, ”Growing older is mainly an ordeal of the imagination—a moral disease, a social pathology—intrinsic to which is the fact that it afflicts women much more than men.“¹ What stood out most to me, however, was a specific aspect of the narrative: Elisabeth's self-destructive pursuit of an idealized version of herself. The disturbing scenes of unhealthy eating, the cycle of self-loathing and trying to live up to impossible standards felt all too familiar. Elisabeth and Sue’s joint descent into self-harm powerfully illustrates the madness of this obsession. Through grotesque imagery—vomiting, binge eating, and repulsive-looking food—Fargeat unflinchingly exposes the violence done to the body in the pursuit of an unattainable ideal. The violent images reflect the struggle to achieve a 'perfect' physical appearance—a struggle that drives many into suffering from eating disorders to control their bodies, often slowly destroying and damaging themselves in the process. One of those moments of self-destruction occurs when we find Elisabeth sitting in front of the TV, staring blankly into space until something catches her attention—the goodbye gift from Harvey: a French cookbook, ”to keep her busy.“ As she flips through the pages, she gags at the sight of the dishes. Then, something shifts within her. The camera cuts to the bathroom, where Sue’s 'flawless' naked body lies on the tiles. Back in the living room, the TV program now switches to a talk show featuring Sue as the guest. The shot alternates between the talk show and the food Elisabeth is preparing in the kitchen, heightening the tension while emphasizing the contrast between the perfect-looking Sue, sitting all dressed up in the vibrant talk show, and the dark apartment where Elisabeth, with frizzy gray hair and dressed only in a dirty bathrobe, cooks the disgusting-looking meal. The scene reaches its climax when Elisabeth takes an uncooked turkey from the fridge and places it on the counter. When Sue answers the host’s question about replacing Elisabeth and whether she is a fan, Elisabeth pauses, listening intently. However, as Sue speaks critically about Elisabeth, highlighting their age difference, Elisabeth is outraged and violently shoves her hand inside the turkey. In extreme close-ups, she pushes and pulls, extracting the bloody giblets as the shot cuts between this action and Sue’s aerobics show. As the scene progresses, Sue's body gradually transforms into that of the turkey, creating a visual connection between the two. The discomfort and disgust initially associated with the turkey is transferred to Sue.

Sue (Margaret Qualley) on her aerobics show. Copyright: MUBI

The constant shifting of identity between Elisabeth and Sue serves as a metaphor for the fractured relationship many people, especially women, have with their bodies. Elisabeth hitting herself repeatedly, desperately pleading to herself (and to Sue), to “Just stop it,” both before and after her binge eating, contrasts sharply with Sue’s (almost bratty) command: “You have to control yourself!” The viewer is consistently reminded that Elisabeth and Sue are two sides of the same person, so when Elisabeth despises Sue, she is essentially hating herself. This also highlights the painful conflict between self-loathing and the need for self-discipline. It illustrates how eating disorders, such as bulimia, often trap individuals in a compulsive cycle of bingeing and purging, where one's body becomes a battleground between self-loathing and self-restriction.

Just a decade before The Substance, Coralie Fargeat laid the groundwork with her short film Reality+ (2014), a precursor to her 2024 body horror work. Both films explore society's obsession with appearance, though Reality+ focuses on the loneliness of living in a world where we constantly manipulate how we're perceived, with its protagonist being a man rather than a woman. However, the French director takes this theme to a dark extreme in The Substance, portraying the female fear of aging through the lens of the male gaze and violence inflicted on the body in the aim of an idealized self. The relentless pursuit of physical perfection is not just a personal struggle but also shaped by cultural and economic forces. Social media bombards us with unrealistic beauty standards, often perpetuated by influencers and so-called experts. The pressure to maintain a 'perfect' body feeds into a commodified ideal, with industries profiting from our insecurities through anti-aging products, cosmetic procedures, and weight loss solutions. Elisabeth and Sue, hosting an aerobics show, must look flawless to market the program. By doing so, they contribute to the system, even though they themselves are victims of it. These forces shape our self-image, trapping us in cycles of self-criticism, similar to those struggling with eating disorders.

There is one scene that truly breaks my heart. Just before Elisabeth injects the substance, she stands before a mirror, naked, examining her reflection. The camera lingers on her breast, her face, and the skin on her abdomen. She gently glides her hand over her skin, pausing over a beauty mark next to her belly button. She studies how her face looks without make-up and how her body looks without being covered by clothing. As a viewer, I see a beautiful woman, yet the way she perceives her own image suggests how she believes she is no longer good enough. It’s a familiar feeling—analyzing one's body, convinced it’s never enough: not beautiful enough, not skinny enough, not curvy enough in the right places. In that case, it’s not a moment of abjection but one of profound sadness. Though she is simply aging, for her, it’s „the end of her world.“²

Elisabeth Sparkle (Demi Moore) looking at herself in the mirror, analyzing her physical appearance. Copyright: MUBI